Silent Witness
by Scarlett Ribbon
Summary: In aftermath of Lord Voldemort's defeat, the majority of wizarding world has fallen into a false sense of security. But even in the wake of destruction, all is fair in love and war. HG. Post Hogwarts.
1. Chapter 1

_Christmas Day – 2AM_

Each footstep echoed loudly in the wide, sterile hall. The sconces that hung on the white walls followed him, fading from light to shadow. He kept his gaze forward, unseeing to the other faces swimming before him, unhearing to the voices whispering at the beds of loved ones. His body was tense – rigid; the only movements were the footsteps – the footsteps that echoed.

When Harry Potter entered isolation room four, his heart stopped. For the first time since his arrival at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries a flicker of emotion passed over his gaze. Ginny Weasley was perched on the edge of a metal chair, her back to the door. She hadn't yet noticed him, or if she had, she paid no notice. Her hands were clasped tightly around the motionless body that lay unmoving on the narrow hospital bed. Ron Weasley twitched in his potion-induced sleep as his sister leaned forward to brush a fluttering red hair from his face.

"How is he?" Harry crossed the private room in a few strides. He stood at the foot of the bed, watching the slow rise and fall of his best friend's chest. She'd jumped at the sound of his voice and now her teary, reproachful gaze was bearing down upon him. Ginny sniffed, tearing her hands away from Ron's.

"You have some nerve, coming here." Harry blanched. Did she know? He didn't think so. No one did, not yet anyway. Everything about her screamed anger. He was confused and a little bit hurt. She'd left him with his jaw opening and closing with nothing to say. Harry had always been one to blame himself for things like this, but no one else ever had. The Blasting Curse had been entirely his fault, he wouldn't try to deny that. Just as a guttural sigh came from his throat, Ginny rose from her seat and stormed out the door. Left in a moment of stunned silence, it took Harry a moment to regain his composure. But suddenly it had been regained and confusion was replaced by anger of his own.

He crossed the room faster then he'd entered and was hot on Ginny's trail. She was mere steps ahead of him, her red hair swinging with each livid stride. She was heading for the elevator but just as her hand pushed the up button he caught her roughly by the upper arm. She went oddly limp.

"What did I do that was so terribly rotten?" he asked, sarcastically, his voice rising with every word.

That brought Ginny's subdued state to a jarring halt. She wrenched her arm from his grasp, spinning to face him. Her eyes were bright with hostility.

"What did _you _do? What did _you _do?" Ginny threw up her hands in apparent disbelief of his stupidity. "You, Harry Potter, did what you always do. You put yourself in danger _again._ And for what? Can't you stop for one goddamn minute and think? Think that your actions just may hurt _other_ people?" Unexpectedly, her shoulders slumped and her angry tones dropped to disappointment. Somehow, that was so much worse. "Stop being a selfish git and realize that you matter just as much as anyone else, realize that with each attempt at bravado you ended up hurting Ron more."

He took a step back, stunned. She was right of course, she usually was; but that didn't make absorbing it any easier.

"You call that selfishness?" Bitterness was creeping into his words now. "You call that-" He gaped, suddenly at a loss for words. But it quickly came rushing back. "I gave up my life for this war. Everything-"

The elevator dinged.

"Oh, spare me the sob story, Harry." She rolled her eyes. "We've all had to make sacrifices, the rest of us have just manage to handle it without boozing away at the pubs every ni-"

A Healer was approaching; she looked ready to deliver a tongue-lashing and that was the last thing Harry needed. He ushered her into the open elevator, his hand pushing gently on Ginny's stomach.

Soon the doors were closing behind them and Harry couldn't help but feel acutely aware of everything around him – the feeling of his tongue in his mouth, the burning on his shoulder from a healed blasting curse, the sensation of having Ginny's abdomen so close to his own . . .

How soft her lips looked and the way they were hovering just within reach. He could feel her breath on his cheek, she was moving upward, closer –

The elevator chimed. The doors opened.

And she was gone.

_It was Christmas Eve. They had just been settling down for dinner at the Burrow. Molly had been at work all day and it was sure to be a feast to remember. It was the first time in months that they had all been able to gather together at one time. Arthur, Molly and Ginny were moving large platters of food from the oven and stove to their places on the table. Ron and Hermione should have been setting the silverware on the table but were spending more time flinging the cutlery at each other than actually placing it. George and Charlie were trying to change the station on the wireless from Celestina Warbeck, without arousing their mother's suspicions. Screams of childish laughter were emitting from the next room as Fleur and Bella tried to round up the kids. And Harry had been helping himself and Dumbledore to a cup of eggnog when it arrived._

_The Apparated note hovered before Harry like a beacon of death. He'd wished his estimate hadn't been so accurate. The room had gone still. When these small pieces of parchment appeared, everyone knew what they meant._

_Apparated notes had been developed just a few years ago; they were created to allow for easier and faster communication among the Aurors. The magic was fairly simple, one need merely call out someone in his or her ranks and a blank parchment would appear. The sender could merely scribble out a note, speak the word Adlego and the message would disappear, arriving before the person in question._

_Harry received these messages on a fairly regular basis and, recently, they never seemed to contain good news._

Chief –

Ministry needs damage control on ransacked Muggle home. Note is Portkey. Bring Dumbledore and Weasley. No one else available on holiday. You three are the only ones with clearance to sift through an active spell zone. Sorry to bother.

Simmons

_It was supposed to be routine. Sift through some of the rubble, declare lack of survivors and ward the area. Ron had given Hermione a chaste kiss and promised to be back before dessert._

_An incantation later and they were standing among the ashy ruins of what used to be 1348 Oak Lane. It had been just what Harry expected. How could it not be? He'd seen it so many times during Voldemort's ten-year rise to power that Harry couldn't help but feel – nothing. Of course, that could have been the spiked eggnog talking._

_It was then that they heard a cry pierce the air. It wasn't the sort that one usually heard on the battlefield – one of a tortured soul. It was the sound of a baby - crying. Ron was the first to act, moving toward the sound, Harry a few strides behind. Dumbledore had gone off in the opposite direction, scouring the area._

_He'd only looked away for a second. But Harry should have learned by now that all time, no matter how small, was valuable._

_The best Harry could discern as a jet of red light shot past him was that Ron had found the baby, or what he'd thought was a baby. Moving forward through the haze of spells and smoke, his assessment was confirmed. What appeared to be an overturned cradle lay strewn on the ground and that was now where the Death Eater took cover. Ron was moving backwards, trying to find cover of his own when the spell shot across the makeshift battlefield._

_It was a Blasting Curse and it appeared to be making aim right at Ron's chest. All rational thought seemed to have left Harry as he sped towards the masked man and his best friend. Upon later recollection, Harry realized he should have used an Absorption Charm but where that would have left him in the end, he wouldn't know._

_"_Protego!_"_ _Harry cried, just as the spell nicked his shoulder. The angle was all wrong, he should have seen it coming. The shield barely took a hit, but just barely seemed to be enough. That small bit of leverage was all it needed, the curse ricocheted to the left, moving in line with where Ron had just taken cover. The redhead jolted back as he was hit and crumpled to the ground, bleeding and unconscious._

_The air around Harry seemed to crackle with anger, he'd barely taken a step towards the masked man when he Disapparated. Casting the air where the coward had once stood a glare for good measure, Harry turned on his heel._

_He had been intending to go to Ron, possibly apply some immediate medical attention, when he was brought to his knees. Harry's forehead was searing, he clapped his hands to his head, doubling over with the pain. It could only mean one thing. And however cliché it may have been, Voldermort had arrived._

_With an almighty wrench, Harry pulled himself to his feet and headed in the direction from which Dumbledore had left. He found himself looking upon his mentor and arch rival engaging in heated battle. The urge to intervene was growing stronger by the second, but Harry had made enough foolish errors tonight and to jump into a battle without a weapon was foolish. His and Voldemort's wands were useless against one another._

_Abruptly, a green light cascaded over the pile of ruin. In the moment that Harry had used to strategize he'd lost all hope of redemption. The crack of_ Avada Kedavra _as it collided with Albus Dumbledore was so resounding that Harry knew it would haunt his dreams forever. And as the former Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry fell to the ground, his lifeless eyes boring into Harry's, every ounce of his person became consumed. By what - Harry couldn't begin to explain._

_The backwash of the spell was flying towards him at an alarming rate and Voldemort stood cackling just meters away. The Killing Curse couldn't be shielded – but it's aftermath? His mind raced, thinking back to what had just happened to Ron. Before he could begin to think it out, Harry was raising his wand and for the second time that night, crying out, "_Protego_!"_

_The shield captured the green light, and with every bit of strength he'd had left, Harry had heaved the spell towards Voldemort. There was a moment when all he could see was the cold, red eyes, before the stench of fear filled the air and Voldemort became nothing but dust, undistinguishable from the rubble that surrounded him._

_The darkness crept in and Harry succumbed._

_He was standing on a shore. He could feel the sand beneath his toes. He was barefoot. When did that happen? The sound of the waves crashing against the beach caused Harry to look up. It was sunset and the rays were bearing into his eyes._

_There was someone – a woman – standing just ahead. She was in silhouette and her hair was flying in the wind. She was calling to him, drawing him closer. Her hand was extended and Harry reached out to her. He would give anything to touch those soft, familiar hands._

_"Chief!" she called._

"Chief!"

Harry suddenly found himself sitting up and starring, bleary eyed, at the figure of Lieutenant Simmons. His head was poking just inside the flap of Harry's tent. Reaching blindly out towards his night table, Harry grabbed at his glasses before shoving them roughly onto his face.

Simmons' young but haggard features came into sharp focus, leaving Harry's head pounding. But that probably had nothing to do with the glasses and everything to do with those empty flasks of Firewhisky strewn across the dirt floor. As Harry carefully made his was to his feet, he kicked the bottles underneath his cot and stretched his arms over his head. Rubbing a weary hand over his eyes, Harry cricked his neck.

"What's so important that you have to wake me at this ungodly hour, Lieutenant?" To be perfectly honest, the hour wasn't that ungodly. It was seven in the morning and it was the latest Harry had been able to sleep in a long time. People didn't seem to find the need to wake him so very pressing when Voldemort was out of the picture. If there was one thing that Harry had expected to look forward to at Voldemort's downfall, he certainly didn't think it would be the ability to sleep in.

"I've got an owl for you, sir."

Shuffling forward, he snatched the parchment from Simmons' outstretched hand and unfurled it. He hadn't yet read the first line due to the unsettling feeling of a presence hovering just behind him. Harry didn't bother turning around, he just sighed and rolled his eyes. "Dismissed, Simmons." There was a flapping sound of the tent closing and Harry was left in peace.

The owl appeared to have been scribbled in haste, which was unusual considering the sender.

_Harry-_

_Fleur's in labor. We're leaving for St. Mungo's. Meet us there._

_-Hermione_

Harry sighed. It wasn't that he wasn't glad for Fleur but he just wished it could have come at a better time. Ginny's voice was ringing in his head. Stop being selfish. He shook his head, why was she always right? For the first time since he'd woken this morning, Harry realized that a heavy rain was beating against the tent and thunder was rumbling in the distance. Rainy days had become a distant familiarity over the years and they always seemed to accompany the mood at camp; but despite the sudden upturn in happy faces the water kept pouring in.

All things considered camp wasn't going very well at all, save for the minor detail of Voldemort's recent demise. Just after Harry, Ron and Dumbledore had been called away to Oak Lane, destruction had arrived at camp in the form of two very large giants. Since the ambush, they'd been recuperating from the loss of supplies and soldiers. It was lucky really, that the attack had been holiday, for the damage would have been much more disastrous. Not that the loss of even a single life wasn't a disaster. Of the twelve that had been at camp that night, four were lost and two were severely injured. The other six, while sporting bruises, managed to stay on their feet.

Had the situation been routine, Harry would have had the entire encampment moved to another location but the situation wasn't routine anymore. The Auror Corps were no longer in hiding. The war was over. But as Harry bent to pick up the sheaves of parchment that he had spent most of the evening pouring over, he found himself unbelieving of what should have been a wonderful truth.

Ten years since Voldemort had risen, eight years of open war fare and it was over – just like that. Some might have found error with a statement like that. A decade certainly wasn't an insignificant amount of time but the end couldn't help but feel trivial to Harry. He was twenty-four years old and had no idea how to move on with his life.

Every part of his body felt stiff and achy, it was as if Harry had aged fifty years in those five hours of sleep and just bending over to pick of those empty bottles had seemed like a chore. As he made his way to the rubbish bin, he paused looking over the cot he'd shared with Ronald Weasley: Head of the Auror Corps Tactic and Strategy Division. Currently, the bed opposite him was unoccupied. That side of their little room was spotless save for a tattered Chudley Cannons poster and photograph of Hermione. Harry's side on the other hand was a picture of destruction.

Since Ron was still at St. Mungo's recovering from Christmas Eve, Harry had failed to see the need to keep up with tidiness. In just a few more days, he would be packing up his things and searching for more permanent housing. There was a clang of glass meeting glass as three more bottles fell atop the others. Harry wondered idly if he ought to throw those piles of tactics and strategies in the bin atop the Firewhisky, but decided against it.

Casting a glance at his watch, Harry realized he'd dawdled long enough and headed towards the designated Apparation point.

Upon his arrival at St Mungo's, Harry was immediately bombarded by a barrage of faces. He supposed it was to be expected considering it was only four days since the announcement of Voldemort's downfall had hit the public. Harry generally remembered to bring his invisibility cloak when heading to places as public as this, but in his haste to get to the hospital; it had slipped his mind.

But all things considered the amount of attention he now received was far more positive than before. And when Harry had squeezed his way through the crowd with a flurry of "Pardon me"'s and "Thank you"'s, he was left with a feeling of deep satisfaction instead of agonizing strain.

Stepping into the loo to apply a quick Refreshening Charm, Harry gave himself a once over in the mirror. He looked better, if not altogether good. His features were still haggard, his eyes were still dark and his shoulders still slumped but his hair was no longer greasy and matted from not showering and the smell of alcohol had gone from his breath. Splashing some water over his face for good measure, Harry headed towards the Delivery Ward.

The halls were much busier then the last time he had been here and construction was being undergone in the Dai Llewellyn Ward, from the Death Eater ambush just a few months ago. The raid on the hospital had preceded Bill's death by just a few days and the sight of it brought a pang in his abdomen. He had been here with Fleur, for her checkup on their unborn child's status. When the Death Eater's had arrived, he'd fought admirably among many others and had managed to regain the wing. No one would have guessed that within the week he would be dead at the large feet of an angry troll.

Harry rounded the corner to find the Delivery Ward occupied quite thoroughly by an entourage of red heads. Fleur and Bill's three older children stood huddled in a corner, no doubt planning their latest scheme. The youngest Weasley's and their mother had been recently occupying the Burrow, and while it may have been under grievous circumstances – no one could deny Molly's delight at having a full house once more.

George was on his feet, gesturing wildly at Charlie, who had his arms wrapped snugly around his wife of three years – Bella. It always brought warmth to Harry's heart to see George back to his old tricks. For about a year following his twin's death, the spark seemed to have left the stocky man but for the last three years he'd seemed to have found it was better to honor his brother's memory with laughter.

Remus and Tonks were even listening in, shaking with mirth, their hands joined. The two had become an almost permanent fixture in the Weasley crowd and Tonks seemed to have dyed her hair red for the occasion.

Another group had assembled just to the right. They appeared to be playing a rousing game of wizards scrabble. Among them was Mr. Weasley, Hermione and –

"Ron!" Harry cried, a genuine smile crossing his feature for the first time in awhile. The sound of his voice caused the group to look up. There was a chorus of cheers and welcomes as Harry made his way to his friend. He was even quite certain he'd heard George calling out to him, "Always one to be fashionably late, aren't you, Harry?"

Waving the man off with a disgruntled hand gesture, he abruptly caught Ron in a brief man hug. Managing an extra squeeze for good measure, Harry released his friend, ruffling his hair. "Good to see you up and about, mate."

Ron waved his hand in a nonchalant manner, before puffing himself up. "I'm not one to be taken down easily," he said, dropping Harry a wink. It was typical of Ron to make jokes. He always made light of any situation that made him uncomfortable. And this situation had made _Harry_ much more uneasy then it had Ron. It had been close, and they all knew it.

Now that Harry had given Ron the once over, he allowed himself a more thorough examination of the waiting room. "Where's Molly and Ginny?"

Hermione stepped forward, lacing her fingers with Ron's. "They went into to delivery with Fleur. Sorry if my note was a bit short, but the Healers estimated a short labor -"

"Not a problem, Hermione."

"Well, it doesn't seem like they'll be done anytime soon, besides." She cast an impatient glance toward the door. Ron rolled his eyes, smirking. "We've been waiting for over an hour now."

Arthur chuckled, having picked up the last of the Wizard's Scrabble and banished it. "Now, now, Hermione, we haven't been waiting very long at all. Why, I remember when Molly was in labor with Ginny, it took a good 26 hours before she'd worked her way out." He smiled wisely, pushing the glasses up on his nose. "I think we ought to settle in for a long -"

Mr. Weasley was interrupted by the sound of a door banging open. Mrs. Weasley stood in the doorway, beaming brightly, a small blue bundle in her arms. The congregation seemed to let out a delighted, collective squeal and hurried to form a crowded circle around the new arrival.

"I'd like you all to meet," Molly announced, sounding as if she'd caught a sudden head cold, "William Arthur Weasley Jr." A communal sigh emitted from the group as the ogled the small pink face. People had moved back to give the little boy some room as they waited in turns for their chance to hold the tiny newborn.

Giving Hermione a slight nudge, he whispered, "I'm going to go get everyone some coffee. Back in a bit." She nodded hurriedly and by the time he was back in the hall she had already moved over to little Bill.

Harry returned several minutes later to the sound of raucous laughter. If the atmosphere had been jubilant before, it was nothing compared to now. Molly was gone once more and with her was William Jr. Hermione and Bella were gabbing about baby clothes while Ron and Charlie sat together silently, casting one another stony looks.

He had been balancing the trays of steaming coffee precariously on top of one another when Mr. Weasley arrived to take off a bit of the load. Harry had just managed to grab two mugs of his own, when talkative "Weasley's" besieged upon the table where the drinks had just been placed.

Standing back from the crowd, Harry shifted awkwardly on his feet; wondering how to pose his question to Arthur while sounding as off hand as possible.

"So-" He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Where's Ginny gone off to?"

Mr. Weasley gave him a speculative look, before returning his gaze to the group – a slight smirk playing on his lips. "I think she went to help get Fleur cleaned up. You might be able to find her in the Recovery Ward."

"Thanks, Mr. Weasley." The man gave him a pointed look. "Uh – sir." Harry shrugged apologetically and shuffled off towards the recovery ward, two hot Styrofoam cups searing his hands.

Harry found himself walking down the hallway where most recovering mothers took their stay. But he couldn't bring himself to pop his head in an open door, much less knock on a closed one and see if Ginny or Fleur was inside. So, after several minutes of futile wandering, Harry resigned himself to the fact he'd be drinking two coffees and meandered over to the baby-viewing window.

He'd just rounded the corner towards his destination when he saw her. Her back was to him and her arms were crossed over her chest, but somehow he could tell from her stance that she was smiling.

Harry approached her cautiously, until he was standing at her right elbow. She made no indication that she'd noticed him, which made Harry all the more anxious, his mind drawing back to that Christmas morning.

"Hi." He extended his left hand, offering her the coffee. She took it, nodding her thanks. It took her a moment before she raised the cup to her lips, but when she did, she didn't take a sip. She just let her arm fall once more.

Starring blankly into the window of sleeping infants, Ginny's shoulders sagged. "Listen Harry-" She shifted slightly, her eyes meeting his. "About the other day – what I said – I'm sorry. At the time I didn't know about Dumb-"

"It's fine." She looked ready to open her mouth once more when he cut her off. "Really, Ginny. It's fine. And for what it's worth, I'm sorry too."

She nodded, averting her eyes back towards the window. "Fleur named me Godmother." Ginny nodded slightly, indicating to the sleeping Weasley in the third row.

"That's great." He swallowed. "I'm sure you'll be wonderful at it."

Harry watched for a moment in silence as she looked at her Godson. She looked so happy – at peace, really. Everything about her seemed to radiate this positive energy and he was being drawn to it like a moth to a flame.

And suddenly he was starring straight into her deep brown eyes, and found himself back in that elevator. But the next second it was gone. Ginny was looking at the baby once more; the only indication of their little tryst was the red tint to her cheeks and the burning of his ears.


	2. Chapter 2

Well, I must admit the lack of reviews from the last chapter left us a bit discouraged but seeing as chapters two, three, and four are already written we couldn't help but post them. This chapter will bring several things together and we hope you enjoy it. Also, I'd like to thank Dara, our beta, for her wonderful help on this chapter. We'd never have been able to get this posted without her. Any who, happy reading! Please read and review!!

"Put your trousers back on this instant!" was not the best thing to hear this early on a Monday morning, Harry decided. But that didn't seem to deter Ginny Weasley from screaming it at the top of her lungs. Arriving at the Burrow could never be considered uninteresting, that was certain.

Harry's distant dreams of a late sleep seemed irrevocably dashed since William Weasley had been brought into the world. The two days following Christmas Day had proclaimed themselves a time of calm. The calm before the storm, more specifically. And now, on the 30th of December, all hell had broken loose.

The shock had worn off and the celebration was beginning. Harry supposed he ought not be resenting the festivities. There had been ten years of war and now the Wizarding world was basking in its freedom. They shouldn't have been bothering themselves the way Harry was. The technicalities of war were unimportant to the general public. Rounding up the last of the Death Eaters seemed a minute detail in the grand scheme of things and the abruptness of Voldemort's departure from this world was nothing more than good cause to open a bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey. The Prophecy had been fulfilled; Harry was no longer a beacon of hope (in which faith had been slowly dwindling) but a champion who would forever be immortalized.

The entire situation made him positively nauseous.

The other thing making Harry nauseous was the sight, sound, and smell of Jimmy Fitzgerald. Jimmy Fitzgerald was twenty nine, a member in the Department of Magical Games and Sports, and utterly obnoxious. Why was he utterly obnoxious one might ask? Well, there were several answers for which Harry would be more than happy to provide an eager listener. He was arrogant and pompous, held himself with far more confidence than could be trusted, had a ridiculously cheesy smile, and oh yes – he happened to be going out with Ginny Weasley.

So, as Ginny's voice floated in from the kitchen – yelling about replacing trousers, Harry couldn't help but pray to all the powers he held dear that she wasn't talking to Jimmy Fitzgerald, whose insufferable laughter was mingled with Ginny's screams.

Steeling every fiber of his Gryffindor nerve, Harry pushed open the door that led to the kitchen, and stood with bated breath.

The newest member of the Weasley family was squirming in a small carry-cot, perched atop the large oak table. Bill's hands had all but disappeared inside his mouth and his bright blue eyes were beaming into the identical ones of his Godmother. Ginny had both hands balanced on her slightly bent knees as she smiled down at the infant.

A long lock of red hair had escaped from behind her ear to tickle the tip of her nose. Harry watched her with his head slightly cocked, wondering if someone would give out to him for staring when she looked up, smiling.

"Harry! I didn't know you were going to be here today."

He shrugged awkwardly. "Neither did I until I got an owl from Hermione. She and Ron were supposed to meet me here. They wanted to talk about something."

That was another reason this entire visit had left Harry in some trepidation. He'd known his friends for a long time and whenever they had enough foresight to plan a meeting, it rarely meant anything good. And Harry had a nagging feeling that he knew just what that 'nothing good' was.

There was an awkward pause in which Ginny looked blankly back at him, a pair of baby pants in her hand. Those apparently were the ones that had needed replacing.

"You remember Jimmy?" Ginny indicated to the stocky man to her left, as she ran a gentle hand down his arm. Harry felt a sudden rush of heat pour over him. He nodded stiffly and hoped to leave it at that. But his hopes were not to be realized.

"And how could I forget you, eh?" There was that cheesy smile. "Harry Potter. Our illustrious savior." The man extended his meaty hand and Harry shook it – briefly. "Always thought you could have served us better on a Quidditch field rather than the battlefield, though," Jimmy gesticulated with a large and phony wink.

Harry knew his smile could more accurately be described as a rictus. He returned his attention to Ginny. Distraction was good - especially if it was the sort that would make her hand move away from Jimmy Fitzgerald's arm. "Where's everyone else?"

"Well, Mum and the kids are back at St. Mungo's with Fleur," she replied. "She was here just a while ago, to drop Bill off. Thought it would be easier to get Fleur back home without having her worry about the baby. We were just changing him." Ginny lifted up the small jeans in indication.

That awkward silence was encroaching again and he couldn't help but dart his eyes nervously towards the door. If Hermione and Ron didn't show up soon –

"Are you coming to the New Year's Party?"

He blinked, trying to comprehend just what she was talking about.

"Everyone's going to be here. Mum's going spare about the whole thing," Ginny elaborated, seeming to sense his confusion.

"Oh, um-" He scratched his head. _Great, Potter, good time to go ape. _"I dunno. I suppose – probably." Harry shrugged again; his heart was hammering. It was unnerving that in each instance he'd run into Ginny, she'd managed to make him feel like he was beneath the shadows of a swinging overhead light inside a dark, enclosed room with a mustached interrogator sporting a New York accent.

Since Arthur's promotion to Minister, not much had changed throughout the Burrow other than an increase in propriety of its occupants. There was no decision to be made on whether or not to stay at the Burrow: it was the Weasley home and nothing could replace that. But, of course, adding a few accoutrements never hurt anyone.

Harry had lent out the services of both Dobby and Winky to Molly, but she couldn't resist getting a House Elf of her own – Spritz. She was a lively little thing and the two of them gabbed like old friends. But their fondness for one another didn't seem to ease the ferocity of Hermione's stare. Despite the fact that Mrs. Weasley now had the duty of holding several annual Ministry functions didn't seem to ease his friend's aversion to household help.

While her passion for the rights of magical creatures hadn't died, Harry couldn't help but be thankful for the fact that it was reduced to a gentle simmer. Just out of Hogwarts, Hermione had made her way towards the employment office for the Being Division in the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and had held a position there for only a few weeks. A large number of the departments had to be cut back for budget purposes, and at the time, Magical Creatures wasn't on the top of the priority list.

With a large amount of persuasion on his part, Arthur convinced Hermione that she was over-qualified and had skills that could be put to much better use in a field benefiting the war effort. Her sense of duty seemed to overpower her desire for the good of Magical Creature kind and she'd begrudgingly agreed to take a higher position in the Department of International Magical Cooperation. In her first year there it would have taken a lot of cunning to get Hermione to admit to just how much she loved her job, but there was no hiding it now. She was a powerful woman and had done a damn good job at it. But that soft spot in her heart for all things oppressed had yet to dwindle.

"Then the memorial's coming up a few days after that," Ginny resumed, her arms fluttering to cross over her chest. Harry felt a triumphant leap somewhere round his middle. It was suddenly much easier to concentrate now that her hand wasn't lingering _anywhere _on the person of Jimmy Fitzgerald.

There was an unexpected bang as the door leading into the foyer flew open, bouncing off the hinges – a fair imitation of the new arrivals. Harry felt an altogether release of tension as the familiar faces of Ron and Hermione squeezed their way through the small opening, rosy cheeked.

"Ron! For goodness sake, you ought to know the difference between women's and men's clothes by now," Hermione admonished him. For all the sternness in her voice, the glimmer of mischief in her eye was impossible to miss.

"Why ought I to know that?" He guffawed. "It's muggle stuff! They've got it all backwards." Ron tossed Harry a cheeky grin as he flopped onto the nearest chair.

"I don't suppose it would kill you to actually _read _the directory, would it? They've got signs everywhere." She shook her head, heaving several overstuffed bags onto the tile counter.

"'Bout as much as it would kill me to pick up Hogwarts, A History," his best friend was now muttering as he stuffed a half-peeled banana into his mouth. Hermione tossed him an admonishing look from the other side of the room. Whether she'd actually heard his complaints, or could just sense his mood, Harry didn't know.

"Harry." Hermione suddenly turned on him, with a look in her eyes that reminded Harry of his primary school teacher. Cowed, it came back to him that he hadn't been looking forward to this meeting. But considering his other option was staying here with Jimmy Fitzgerald, Harry decided it was safer for all involved if he just took his chances with Hermione. "Are you ready for our little meeting?"

Ginny started, moving to pick Bill up from his cradle. "We'll clear off if you like-"

"No, don't be silly, Ginny," Hermione remonstrated. "We'll go out in the garden. You and Jimmy continue." She dropped her friend a small wink before taking hold of Ron's hand and dragging him towards the backdoor with a force that would make any combat Auror proud.

Harry had barely a moment to wonder if he could escape now, when he was borne down under the glare of a bushy haired young woman, who seemed to realize just where his thoughts were leading. With a piteous glance in Ginny's direction, Harry made his way morosely to the outdoor gazebo, dread seeped into each step.

The feeling of being back in primary school returned with full force as Harry took his seat on the small wooden bench. Hermione and Ron were across from him, their knees barely touching, and their gazes firmly focused – on him. Harry felt his insides squirm and tried to regain his nerve. It wouldn't do to be nervous when trying to hand out rejection. But the fact that Ron was even looking a little bit anxious did nothing to appease Harry's own anxiety.

"Harry we want you to move in with us."

Harry felt his cheeks tighten. It was what he'd expected – and what he'd dreaded. It wasn't surprising that Hermione was the one to bring it up, but she didn't seem to be going in on this one alone. Harry had just opened his mouth to refuse when Ron beat him to the punch.

"You can't live in a tent forever, mate."

He blinked, a little non-plussed. "I know that-"

"Harry, things haven't been easy for you lately." Hermione was taking on _that _tone, that Molly-Weasley-tone. It was best to stop her mid-stride.

"Things haven't been easy for anyone-"

"Yes, but you need someone to look after you-"

"Hermione, I'm not a child." He was standing now. "I'm a grown man, I've just defeated Lord Voldemort for goodness sake."

"We know mate," Ron objected, "just sit down and hear us out." He sat. "You need a place to stay and we all know that you don't do too well when you're left on your own to brood."

"Now-"

"It's not meant to be offensive Harry," Hermione amplified, holding up a placating hand. "It's just a fact."

"I can find a place to stay."

"Spending the night on a camp-bed in some bar, doesn't count, Harry," Ron guffawed.

Hermione cast him a reproving look. Sarcasm was obviously not the tactic she wanted him to follow. "We want you to be with us. You're our friend. You know that. This just might be a good chance for us to recuperate. To be an _us _again."

Harry gaped, shaking his head.

"Just think about it."

Watching Harry Potter from her position of leaning against the balcony door frame, hidden within shadows, holding two flutes of champagne, was probably not the right thing for Ginny Weasley to be doing when her boyfriend was in the other room waiting for her to return.

She watched the long trail of ash fall off the end of Harry's lit cigarette, scattering in the breeze and sweeping into the distance. He didn't seem to care, though. In fact, he wasn't even concentrating on the cigarette dangling precariously between his fingers. Ginny had the sudden urge to take it from him before he dropped it and set the entire place on fire. But before she could step forward, the butt was being ground into the railing of the banister and Harry was tossing it over the edge.

But that was all second nature; it was obvious he wasn't aware of his own actions. His movements were entirely habitual. No, Harry Potter was more concerned with his flute of champagne than with the now extinguished cigarette. Ginny brought a hand to her mouth to stifle the giggle that was threatening to erupt. Harry's eyes were roaming the glass with a child-like curiosity. He'd even craned his neck to look up the flute from the bottom of the base.

It was silent, oddly silent… none of the ruckus from the party just rooms away could be heard. The sun was setting, casting soft orange, purple, and pink hues across the hills in front of them and over the balcony they occupied. It would only last for a few minutes, the sun was nearly out of sight, and the stars would soon replace it in the steadily---- darkening sky.

Harry unconsciously broke the silence between them, releasing a loud sigh, dropping his curious investigation of the champagne glass in favor of staring off at the fragment of sun that remained visible from behind the now-dark hills. He stood slumped over the railing, his elbows resting lightly on the edge.

Ginny bit her lip and considered her next move. Glancing down at the two glasses in her hands, she looked over her shoulder - back towards the door she'd come through. Harry didn't exactly know she was there; she could just slip back out and join Jimmy in the other room. That would have been the proper thing to do. But Ginny Weasley was never one to do the proper thing. Something kept her there, watching the tousle-haired man in front of her.

He absentmindedly tilted the glass in his hand to the side, letting it go as far as it could before the bubble filled drink inside tipped out. Farther and farther he'd let the flute go sideways in his hand until finally a trickle of liquid fell from it, catching the last flickers of light before the sun went down, and hit the ground, stories beneath them.

"That'll kill the plants."

Completely startled, Harry dropped his drink, the glass along with it, into a tangle of shrubs below. He peered over the ledge and stared blankly down at the now non-existent glass.

"Shit."

Ginny's mind was made up for her; even if she wasn't sure it was the best decision. As though something had taken her over, she took a few steps across the balcony and handed him one of the glasses of champagne. _The one intended for Jimmy_, her conscience reminded her.

"Toast?"

Harry accepted the glass gratefully; about to drain it as fast as he'd drained the rest he'd had that night, when he realized Ginny was expecting him to say something. She had a faint smile on her lips, a mixture of amusement and genuine happiness.

Blinking several times to clear his head, Harry tore his eyes away from her. He couldn't breathe with her looking at him like that, let alone make a toast.

"To the future. It appears we have one now."

She apparently had no problems with breathing, as she calmly clinked her glass against his and took a sip of the cool, bubbly drink. He didn't though. He couldn't. And wasn't that something? Harry Potter not being able to take a drink - that was a first.

The only thing he could do was watch her. Watch the way she ever so slightly closed her eyes as she brought the glass to her lips and let the champagne fall into her mouth. When Ginny realized he was watching her, Harry became even more engrossed by the way his attention brought an amused smirk to her face.

"Well aren't you going to take a drink? It's bad luck if you don't."

Almost obediently, Harry took a drink, but his eyes were still fixed on Ginny over the rim of his glass. He couldn't breathe, but he didn't care. She was getting flustered; her normally pale cheeks were turning a soft pink, slowly reddening the longer he kept his eyes on her.

Not more than a moment later, she broke away from their tenuous connection and looked out towards the open fields behind the house.

Harry swallowed hard in an attempt to regain his somewhat drunken composure before resuming his earlier position of arms hanging languidly over the balcony, his glass balancing precariously between his fingers. A few awkward moments later and he was bringing the glass to his lips, draining as much as the tightness in his throat would allow.

"I'm giving people false hope."

Ginny looked over at Harry, a question in her eyes. But Harry didn't see it. His eyes were fully focused on his near empty glass, not diverting his attention for a moment. That was classic Harry. He'd always taken the position that avoidance was the ultimate key to holding it all together. And for him that could have very well been true.

"What?"

If he hadn't seen the question in her eyes before, her tone made her confusion obvious. Even he didn't know why he'd said it. It wasn't any of Ginny's business why he was feeling more like an outsider than he'd ever felt in his life. But the words just kept spewing from his mouth, in spite of himself.

"I'm a shit. I can't let it go. It's over and I can't fucking give it up. Dumbledore shouldn't have died. I wasn't alone defeating him. But now that he's gone, I've never felt more alone in my entire damn life."

Ginny was truly shocked by what he was saying. She had no idea he felt like that, and it tore her up inside to see him that way, so defeated, so broken inside. She had no idea why she cared, considering the fact that she had her own boyfriend's feelings to worry about.

A boyfriend. One who albeit, a little over-eager, was a good man – and he was a lot less complicated then Harry sodding Potter. But Ginny knew that complicated came with territory. Where it got really difficult was getting Harry to talk about it. But that didn't seem to be an issue tonight. Harry could hold his liquor, but not tonight. No, not tonight. He'd decided to loosen his lips the one time she'd decided to make conversation. It was her rotten good luck.

All thoughts of Jimmy dissipated like leaves in the wind and she found herself putting a reassuring hand on Harry's arm.

"You're never alone, Harry."

He finally looked up at the nearly empty glass. That statement alone was enough to make Harry forget about the champagne completely.

He was never alone. It didn't feel that way though. It was like every place he turned, he was alone, and just when he thought he couldn't get any lonelier, he did. But Ginny was there now, and for God's sake, it was Ginny!

Ginny, who could make him stop breathing with one look. Ginny, who could make his stomach do flip flops until he felt sick. Ginny, who was telling him he wasn't alone. Ginny, who was so damn perfect…

Harry forgot all pretense and took an alarmingly large step towards the auburn haired woman next to him. Ginny blinked up at him, surprised at their close proximity. Unconsciously, she took a step back, but her heel chose that moment to snag on the hem of her dress, making her lose her balance. She knew she should have gone for that knee length gown. But even in his drunken state, Harry's reflexes were quicker than Ginny's, and he took hold of her arm to steady her.

She reached down with her free hand and gathered the loose fabric from under her heel, and took another step back. Harry followed her, matching her pace and quickly closing the gap between them once more.

Ginny kept her eyes glued on his, but continued in the futile effort of opening the distance between them: that safe, comfortable distance that was necessary to keep this merely a conversation between friends. However, it was quickly becoming obvious that the conversation was nothing of the sort.

It was his turn to smile down at her with amusement as he took another step in her direction. He was closer to Ginny than he'd ever allowed himself before. So close, in fact, that he could see every sparkle of the glitter that was brushed across her cheeks. So close, that he could feel her breath on his cheek. So close, Harry was certain she could hear his heart pounding against his chest.

She stood there for a moment, unable to move, unable to breathe, unable to do anything except look at him, looking at her, his eyes glassy with drunken oblivion.

In a last-ditch attempt to end the little dance they were playing with each other, Ginny slowly took one last step away from him, but in one fell swoop, hit the wall behind her, causing her champagne glass to be jolted from her hand. It fell from her grasp over the edge of the balcony and gracefully tumbled into the plants below. Her other hand let the bunched satin of her dress fall back down to the stone tiles at her feet. Ginny couldn't help it. She glanced over the balcony to where the glass had fallen into the bushes, probably somewhere near where Harry's had landed before. Reluctantly, but with a hint of irony, Ginny brought her eyes back to his.

"Shit."

He seemed to be shaking with repressed mirth and, with a smirk in her direction, Harry turned the glass upward, draining it of its last drops. Then, with a wink, he tossed it onto the grass below.

"Why'd you do that?"

"Because I only had one free hand."

"Why do you need two hands?"

Ginny wasn't stupid. She knew what came next. She couldn't exactly say she wasn't expecting it. Hell, she couldn't even say she didn't want it to happen. Why else hadn't she continued back down to the party, where by now, she was sure Jimmy was perplexed as to why she hadn't come back.

It was a good thing she'd locked the door when she'd come in. That way he couldn't come find her. So yes, Ginny had wanted this to happen, even if she hadn't admitted it to herself.

"So I can do this."

Harry took that one last step needed so that Ginny's tiny body was pressed up against his, and so that they were both pinned up against the wall. In one fell swoop, he covered her lips with his and kissed her, not bothering to worry about formalities. He was drunk. Intoxicated. Inebriated. Definitely sloshed.

But aside from all that, he was kissing Ginny, passionately and without any hesitation.

And Ginny was kissing him back. She trailed her dainty hand along his collarbone, up his neck, and through his hair, scrunching it between her fingers as she stood on her tip toes to reach Harry's height. She was blissfully unaware that being pressed between a wall and Harry Potter's body, so close to him that she could feel his heart pounding against his chest, was not where she was supposed to be. All thoughts of Jimmy Fitzgerald had vanished into the abyss.

That was probably the precise reason that, when Harry pulled his face away from hers just a fraction of an inch, and whispered into her kiss-swollen lips that he wanted to take her inside, she didn't pull back and slap him across the face as any other self respecting young lady might have. According to what her mother had taught her anyway. And definitely notaccording to law one of the unofficial Harry Potter fan club.

No, Ginny merely tilted her head to the side, her eyes hooded with desire, before reaching up and wrapping both hands around his neck. He leaned down to kiss her once again and as he did, his hands moved down her petite body until he could scoop her up in his arms.

With that, Harry pushed open the pair of wooded French doors with his foot and carried her inside, reminiscent of a true esquire, unable to contain himself any longer. Both he and Ginny would be otherwise occupied this night, if the unscrupulous grins upon both their faces were any indications.

Jimmy who?


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Hey! We just want to give a HUGE thank you to everyone that has reviewed so far! You have no idea how much they mean to us. It shows us that you guys are reading and that you want to see more of Silent Witness. So please, keep reviewing! And to those of you who are reading but not reviewing, please, try to find it in yourself to do so. It really does make us want to release more chapters as fast as we possibly can. Speaking of, chapter four is with our WONDERFUL beta, Dara, and should be returned and editted on our part soon. Five and six have yet to be written, as we are waiting for a little bit more feedback. Which is where you come in! Let us know what you feel about what's out there so far! Without your honest opinions, we don't know what our readers are thinking! Thanks for your loyalty and without much further adieu, we present the third chapter of Silent Witness.

* * *

Harry rolled over on his side, his arm reaching out blindly – for what, he didn't know. Actually, that wasn't entirely true, Harry knew what he was reaching for. It was just far too early to admit it. 

Ginny.

That's who he was reaching out for. That was who he'd always been reaching out for.

Well, maybe it wasn't _too_ early.

When his hand met only with the cool crisp pillow, he let out an exalting sigh.

Things were seeping back into his memory. Light was creeping between the cracks in his eyelids, bringing with it a dull ache.

Throwing the arm that had caressed the pillow back over the side of the bed, Harry groaned. This was not nearly as glorious as he'd always imagined. A pounding headache, an empty bed, and a creeping hangover was not exactly how he'd envisioned his . . . joining with Ginny.

Well, wasn't that pathetic? He couldn't even say the word. Nix that, he couldn't even _think_ the word.

Sex. Sex. Sex.

There - he'd thought it.

And now, Harry kind of wished he hadn't.

Sex. Sex. Sex with Ron's _little sister._

There was a loud _smacking_ sound as his hand collided with his forehead.

_Bloody brilliant, Potter. _

Harry threw the sheet off his legs and flung them over the bed. When he was met with a biting cold, he quickly recovered himself, wrapping the sheet snugly around his waist.

Waddling across the room, Harry decided, was not the most dignified way to chase after the woman he'd bedded the night before.

He would have smacked himself on the head again if it weren't for fear of losing his precariously draped toga. But Harry refused to end it like this. He could still smell her perfume on his pillow, he could still see her hair falling back onto the bed, he could still…

…see her brother standing in the hallway.

Harry decided that it also wasn't very dignified to stand in another family's hallway in nothing but a thin white sheet.

So as Ron stared at him with a raised brow and mouth agape, Harry readied himself for the inevitable strike. His red haired friend stared at Harry, puzzled.

"But, Gin -" Ron pointed down the hallway leading to the stairs and back at Harry, coming to the slow realization. It was best to play dumb.

"What?"

Comprehension seemed to dawn and then Ron was moving toward him. About to strike when… Harry found himself in the grips of a tight Weasley hug.

Harry gasped, struggling to maintain hold of his sheet. It was his turn to be utterly perplexed. "What – what are you doing?"

Ron's voice was muffled against his shoulder, but Harry could still decipher "New Year's wishes really do come true!"

Freezing up, Harry pushed his friend back, feeling a powerful urge to babble incoherently. Because that was definitely one thing Harry wasn't feeling right now – coherent.

"Just what sort of wishes are you making there, Ron?"

Ron was beaming from ear to ear, a bright shine had come into his eyes and Harry felt himself become even _more_ uncomfortable - if that was possible in this situation.

"You and Ginny. I saw her come out of this room -"

Harry ran a hand roughly over his face, his own comprehension dawning. This was bad. This was very, very bad. Ron was no doubt thinking this was some sort of intentional act made by two consenting and sober people. Harry would be in for a beating.

He didn't know who he'd be more afraid of when the truth came out – Ginny, or her six older brothers.

"Ron – Ron, you can't tell _anyone_ about this. You hear me? _Anyone._" He sighed and rubbed at his neck. "We haven't talked about this. I don't even know what happened -" Ron gave him a menacing glare and Harry held up a defensive hand. "But I will! I'll find out, I swear. I just think I – _we_ need some time."

The brown eyes looked back down the hall, Ron appeared to be gnawing his lip and it made Harry smirk at how much Hermione had rubbed off on his best friend. "Fine," Ron said looking away. "But I'm not -" He paused, and Harry waited for him to finish."Oy!" Ron threw his hand in front of his eyes, "Rearrange your sheet, mate!"

* * *

To say breakfast was an awkward affair would be the understatement of the century. After Harry had come to the realization that chasing after Ginny in a house full of her very large and intimidating relatives was not the best idea, he'd sent Ron on his way and turned to put on some decent clothes.

He'd arrived in the kitchen to find the usual scene of boisterous laughter intermingled with children's screams. It was a sound that had been muted during the war and Harry was all too happy to have it back. The only person out of place was Ron, who on most occasions was not a morning person. But that morning seemed to have been an exception.

He was grinning from ear to ear, wearing the idiotic smile that Harry most often associated with Ron's 'post Hermione kiss' expression. He had shot his red headed friend a glare in warning but Harry had, as it turned out, not been the only one to notice that something was amiss.

George had bounded down the stairs, stopping his exuberant stride only to ruffle Ron's hair. "Hermione finally christen the family jewels, little bro?"

Ron had promptly turned an alarming shade of red, somewhat reminiscent of Mrs.Weasley's homegrown tomatoes, and thankfully, all smirking had ceased.

Had it not been for the fact that he and Ginny had consistently avoided eye contact through out the entire meal, Harry would have found the situation utterly amusing.

But nothing else had been amusing about the day. It had been the day that Harry had been dreading since that fateful Christmas. He supposed on some level it was selfish of him – not to want to attend the memorial service of a man who had had such a great impact on his life.

It had been exactly what he'd expected. Reporters had lined the streets, begging for comments from the attendees. The turn out had been incredible: it was as if the entire Wizarding World had come to pay its respects. Either that, or to gawk at the deceased.

Harry shook his head; his grim attitude seemed to be unavoidable.

There had been several very moving speeches, dedications, and songs but Harry had gone through the entire event like an outsider looking in. The wall between him and those who surrounded him had descended once more. Sarcastic comments had been spinning through his head during the entire ceremony and Harry felt the bitterness tighten its grip on him like Devil's Snare.

Maybe Ron and Hermione were right – maybe he didn't do so well on his own.

That was another thing he'd yet to decide – his living arrangements. His mind and heart had been engaged in a continuous battle. His heart wanted the trio back; his head would sooner be stuck in an oven.

He had the nagging suspicion that living with his best friends would be eerily similar to that last year at Hogwarts, only immeasurably worse. Ron had finally got up the nerve to ask Hermione to be his girlfriend, and apparently they had been trying to make up for lost time. It was nauseating.

And their current mentality seemed to be that there was no time to lose, so they might as well make the most of it.

But if he was entirely honest with himself, that wasn't the only disadvantage. How was he supposed to get up to any interesting misbehavior with Mummy Hermione hovering over him?

Harry had a sneaking suspicion that was the exact reason they'd offered him a place to stay in the first place.

Shifting in his seat, he let his eyes shift half-heartedly to the congregation on the opposite side of the Gryffindor common room. He was certain both Hermione and Mrs. Weasley would later chastise him for his evasiveness. But memorial services didn't usually spark the conversationalist in him.

Harry had developed a routine during the war. He'd attended so many funerals over the past ten years, though none of the others so elaborate as this one, that this process had become something of a therapeutic habit.

The others would gather together speaking in hushed tones and collective grief, all waiting for George to crack a joke and lighten the mood. The rest of the ceremony was usually spent telling humorous tales of friends long gone.

And then the wall would descend, keeping distant every faded memory and every stubborn grief that threatened to consume him. This was merely an opportunity to inscribe yet another name in his mental list of those long gone.

And while Harry's own behavior could have left something to be desired, there was no reason to expect anything more. And those who would try to withdraw him from this self imposed exile would fail miserably. But for the others, the former headmaster would have been proud. It was what he would have wanted - friends gathered together in a celebration of his life and the continued future rather than sorrowful remembrance of the past.

But Dumbledore be dammed if he, or anyone for that matter, were to expect such a grieving process from him.

But Harry had convinced himself that the Professor would _not _want Jimmy Fitzgerald's slimy hands clutching at Ginny's waist. No, the professor would not like that at all. If only Harry could tear his eyes away from the sight.

The group had burst into laughter. Ginny was lowering her head onto Jimmy Fitzgerald's shoulder, her frame quivering with gentle laughter. Her hair was dancing in the firelight as it fell softly in front of her face.

Jimmy Fitzgerald's fumbling hands were making a move towards her face. He obviously thought he was going to caress that stray hair from Ginny's cheek.

Well, Harry would see to that.

Before he'd even realized that he had finally broken his timeless ritual of solitary brooding, Harry had crossed the room and was gripping Ginny's upper arm – pulling her up and out of her chair. Out of Gryffindor tower completely, and far, far away from Jimmy Fitzgerald.

When they'd finally reached the empty class room, Ginny was staring at him with an incredulous ferocity quite reminiscent of Professor McGonnagal. It was dark and damp and Harry was fairly certain he'd led her into an abandoned Potions classroom. But if someone had asked him to return to the Common Room, he was fairly certain he'd never be able to find his way.

And now she was pursing her lips . . . He was in trouble. She was going to take away fifty points, at least. Harry shook his head. This was Ginny, not Professor McGonagall. He had to act fast, she was getting ready to yell.

Harry crashed his lips onto her own, squelching any sound that she may have been attempting to make.

He'd barely had time to taste the strawberries on her lips when she was shoving him away with enough strength to rival a physical combat Auror. Her lips were swollen and her eyes were burning with an angry fire.

"What the _hell _do you think you're doing?" she was screaming. Apparently kissing her hadn't been the ideal way to stop that. And now he had no idea how to respond. Harry was floundering like a first year. He tried to take a step towards her.

"Don't!" She held up her hand. "Don't come a step closer." Her voice had fallen to a deadly whisper.

He stopped, his shoulders slumped.

Her eyes seemed to bore into him for an age. Harry couldn't bring himself to look at her. What the hell was he doing? He'd become some sort of uncontrollable monster. Why wasn't she saying anything?

Finally, she threw up her hands in apparent frustration.

"What the hell is the matter with you? I'm with Jimmy now! I'm happy!"

"Ginny-" he croaked.

"No! No, Harry!" Her hands were clutching at her hair. "You had your chance! You had your chance and you blew it!"

He couldn't breathe. She was coming close to mentioning the unspeakable.

Ginny's breathing had become ragged. One hand was clutching at the desk as if it were her only safety net - perhaps it was.

"I can't have you in my head." She was still looking at the desk. "I can't trust myself with you again." Drawing in a shaky breath, her eyes finally met his own. "Please leave."

He did.


	4. Chapter 4

Ginny sat behind her desk, legs crossed, jiggling her foot nervously. What she was nervous about was a mystery to her. The fight with Harry at the memorial service had unhinged her. He had finally been saying all the things she'd ever dreamed and she threw it back in his face. The sad thing was that it had felt good.

Did that make her a horrible person?

She was fairly certain that it did, but that didn't make it feel any less satisfying. He was saying all the right things and she was saying all the wrong things, but it had felt good. It had felt good to finally make him hurt. Make him hurt in the way that he'd hurt her so many times. Ginny couldn't trust herself with Harry Potter.

If she did, she was likely to kiss him or kill him.

Both options sounded appealing.

Shaking her head, Ginny gnawed on the end of her Sugar Quill and flipped through the file in front of her. She was never able to make it to the end of a report lately without a Sugar Quill at her disposal. At the height of the war, most of the reports had been riveting and she supposed it was a little selfish to be missing them.

Now that it was over, however, reading about a misunderstood third year banishing his mother's knickers was much less alluring.

In truth, this job wasn't all that exciting. Ginny worked for the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad and while it might have sounded rather thrilling, it was anything but. She spent most of her time doing what she was doing now – reading through reports. Occasionally, during the war, they had been understaffed and had let her go out on assignment; but now that the crisis had abated her rather chauvinistic boss felt much more comfortable leaving the dainty young red-head at the desk.

Ginny had joined the department early in the war. She was just out of Hogwarts and her father was still slowly climbing his way to the top. He, at the time, had been answering to Oswald Spade and knew the department could use an extra hand.

At seventeen, Ginny had been ready to go out and experience life but her wallet demanded she stayed put. So, at her father's request, she'd joined the team. She hadn't meant to be here still, seven years later.

Those seven years had flown by. At least, that's how it seemed upon reflection. At the time, each day ached by slowly, as she held her breath in anticipation. Ginny had done as much as she could for the Order but Harry had finally come into his own and Ron, as usual, had followed.

She watched the two go out into battle, would not hear from them in months, and would wait with baited breath for news. Ginny supposed the only thing that had kept her in place was that, for once, Hermione had not followed in the boys' footsteps.

Ginny still couldn't answer what kept her out of battle. It was unlike her. It wasn't as if women weren't involved in the war: at least half of the Aurors were female. During her time at Hogwarts she'd always been ready to jump into things headfirst, but time after Hogwarts was nothing like it should have been.

It was difficult to admit but part of the reason could have been that had she joined the Auror Corps, she would have been working under Harry. It would have been an unbearable situation at the time.

Ginny shook her head. She didn't want to think about that. Not again. It was useless to dredge up the past. She'd learned her lesson in that department. Or, at least she'd thought she had. After the other night, with Harry, she wasn't so sure.

She needed to get out of this office – and fast. Ginny had been staring at this report since her arrival and it was now half past noon and she'd got nowhere.

"Ginny!"

She looked up to see Janine poking her head in the door. Perfect timing.

"Yeah?" Upon reflection Ginny realized she should have guessed Janine was the bearer of bad news. The look on her colleague's face was unmistakable. It was a look she'd seen so many times on so many faces.

"It's the Auror Headquarters – it's been destroyed."

Ginny was vaguely aware that between the time she'd gotten out of her seat and made it out the door Janine had said something about a massive explosion. This wasn't supposed to happen anymore. It was over. They could relax. That's what they'd been fighting for, wasn't it? Wasn't that what Ron and Harry had been fighting for?

Sweet Merlin. If after ten years of fighting they'd died in some sort of ridiculous explosion….

It seemed to take an age to arrive home but when she had it felt as if she'd never left her desk.

Ginny arrived in the kitchen of the Burrow to see her mother leaning over the sink. Her sleeves were rolled up and she was gazing out the window, her hands moving the scrub brush across the pan in practiced movements. It wasn't necessary, of course. Most normal people merely performed a cleaning charm and that was that. But her mother was far from normal. She'd once explained to Ginny that she loved the feeling of the hot water running over her hands and the soap between her fingers. Apparently, she and her father had been doing dishes together the night he proposed.

Dashing towards her, Ginny pulled at her mother's shoulder, whirling her around with an alarming ferocity.

"Ginny! I'm covered in soap!"

"Mum! Are they all right? Did you hear? Have you heard anything? What happened? Why are you just standing there?" She released her grip slightly. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Furrowing her brow, Ginny watched as her mother held a towel to her lips, laughing softly. Her mother was staring somewhere just past her shoulder. Dropping her arms down to her side, Ginny turned around.

Harry Potter was standing in doorway leading to the garage, a smirk playing on his lips.

Feeling her entire body sag with relief, Ginny dashed across kitchen for the second time that afternoon. Grabbing him in an all-consuming embrace, Ginny wrapped her arms around his thin frame and held on for dear life. She could feel every muscle in his body, his should blades pressed against the palm of her hands – he'd never felt more solid.

Suddenly his shoulders were shaking and that usual welcome sound of his laugh was ringing in her ears.

Wrenching herself away from Harry, Ginny smacked his arm – hard.

Grimacing, he rubbed at the spot furiously. "Ow! What was that for?"

"Harry James Potter!" Ginny positioned her hands on her hips, in a way reminiscent of Molly Weasley. "What were you thinking? Scaring us like that?"

The wrath in her stare seemed to cow him. Harry was rubbing at the back of his neck, the way he usually did when he became uncomfortable, his eyes averted. It always surprised Ginny when she could make the man who defeated Voldemort quake under her stare.

He began shifting awkwardly which was a clear sign he was feeling guilty, and before she knew it she was holding onto him once more. Squeezing her eyes shut, Ginny let herself breathe again. She ran her hand across his back, reassuring herself. There had been so many close calls. Ginny had thought she was done living in fear. Perhaps that's what made this event all the more startling.

Ginny pulled away again, her hands clutching at his shoulders, she held him at an arms length. Harry and her brother would always come home from the Aurors' Healer but that never stopped her from assessing their condition herself.

When she was fairly certain he wasn't in any immediate danger she looked at his face once more but, instead, she found her eyes boring into those of Jimmy Fitzgerald. He did not look happy.

He was sitting at the table, head bowed and staring so intently at the surface one would of thought he was perusing an article of Wenchy Witches.

The relief that had consumed her just a moment ago had evaporated and been replaced with intense discomfort. She released Harry's shoulders abruptly and made her way over to him. Ginny felt stiff and uneasy as she wrapped her arms around his neck and placed a chaste kiss on his cheek.

It wasn't a good sign that he didn't move his mouth to greet hers.

It felt as though the oxygen had been sucked out of the room.

Her mother, still across the room drying her hands on the towel, beamed unnaturally at Harry. "Harry, dear! Help me set the table won't you?"

He jumped into action. "Sure thing, Mrs. Weasley."

The commotion as they pulled out the plates and cutlery was blatantly contrived. And of all things, wasn't Harry a spy? You'd think they could be a bit less _obvious_.

She suddenly felt her arms drop as Jimmy pulled away from her.

"Ginny, can I talk to you outside for a moment?" he inquired, his voice low.

She nodded and, crossing her arms tightly in front of her body, Ginny followed him out the door.

She wasn't sure if the biting chill was from the air from the look in Jimmy's eyes.

"Ginny, I'm leaving."

"What?" She feigned surprise. "Why?"

She'd never heard his voice so harsh, berating her.

"You don't love me."

She tried to protest, but he seemed to be unstoppable.

"You don't look at me the same way you look at him. You don't watch me. You don't concern yourself with me. It's no use hiding it anymore. Something happened on New Year's, and I don't know what the hell it was and I'm not sure I want to.

"But whatever happened, it changed you. You don't seem to realize it, but that doesn't mean I don't. I can't torture myself anymore thinking I'll be good enough for you. He's the one you want.

"I love you Ginny, but I can't stand for second best and I can't wait around for the day you'll love me half as much as you love him."

And then he was gone.

Harry had tried to do the right thing. He really had. As he and Mrs. Weasley set the table, Harry had tried his hardest not to glance in their direction. Not to watch as Jimmy Fitzgerald spoke in what appeared to be increasing volume accompanied by wild gesticulations. He didn't appear to be happy, and sweet Merlin, that made Harry happy.

_You're a terrible person, you know that, Potter? _

But he could at least console himself by the fact that if he was terrible, Mrs. Weasley was worse. She didn't even _try_ to feign a lack of interest, at least until Jimmy Disapparated. She jumped guiltily away from the window and moved back to the other side of the kitchen. Harry watched her, debating with himself, as she pulled a sack of potatoes from under the counter.

He had nearly decided to stay put when he found Mrs. Weasley giving him a pointed look before returning her gaze to the self chopping potatoes.

Nodding, Harry buried his hands deep in his pockets and walked out into the bitter cold. She was standing a little way away from the house, leaned up against the tree. Harry would have been content to watch her had she not noticed him first. She was staring at the ground as though her gaze could penetrate its depths and her cheeks were tinged pink from the cold. He'd become so lost in his observations; he jumped slightly when he found her looking at him back.

"Bit nippy out here, isn't it?" Harry tried to smile. "You want my coat?" It took him a moment to realize he wasn't wearing one. She just stared at him – her eyes unsmiling. It was an unusual expression on Ginny.

"So-" He was floundering, "Canons are doing well, huh? Beat Puddlemere in the quarter-final -"

"I s'pose I'll have to cancel those reservations." She was staring at the ground again. Harry would have given anything to have those brown eyes looking at him once more, no matter how sad they seemed.

"Huh?"

The eyes were back. "It is - _was_ - our anniversary next week. We had reservations. At the Pumpkin Palace. I'll have to cancel them."

Harry was on the verge of doing victory dances.

"Why?"

She was staring at him as though he was the biggest fool to ever grace the Wizarding World. "What do you mean 'why'?"

"I'll take you."

"Wha-"

He nodded. "Yeah. Pick you up at seven?"

Placing his hand gently on her elbow, he leaned in, placed a soft kiss on her forehead and left.


End file.
